The road beyond the palace gates was eerily quiet. Vivian sat inside the carriage, her hands folded tightly in her lap. The autumn wind rattled the branches overhead, and the horses' hooves echoed against the stones like a drumbeat of fate.
She leaned back, closing her eyes. The weight of her unspoken words pressed heavily against her chest. If I tell him I love him now, would it change anything? Or would it only burden him more?
The carriage jolted suddenly. One of the guards called out, "The wheel is loose, my lady. We must stop to fix it."
Vivian nodded faintly, though unease curled in her stomach. She heard the sound of men moving, the muttered curses of soldiers tending to the wheel… then silence.
Too much silence.
She pushed the door open slowly. The sight before her froze the breath in her throat — the guards lay motionless on the ground, blood soaking the dirt. Four men stood waiting, their smiles cruel and sharp like blades.
"So the little duchess came out on her own," one of them sneered.
Vivian stumbled backward, then gathered her skirts and ran into the trees. Branches whipped against her skin as she forced her body forward, her only thought echoing in despair: Will he care if I die? Or will he feel relief?
Her lungs burned, her legs trembled, but she didn't stop until she found the hollow roots of a great oak. Crawling inside, she pressed a hand over her mouth, praying they would pass.
The men's voices grew louder. "Find her! Don't let the lady escape!"
One of them kicked the leaves near her hiding place. Vivian held her breath until spots danced in her vision. Finally, the voices faded deeper into the forest.
She dared to exhale, whispering to herself, "Maybe… maybe I'll live…"
But the words had barely left her lips before a shadow loomed behind her.
"Well, well," a thug hissed, "the prey thought she was clever."
Her scream pierced the forest as they dragged her out, her hands clawing at the earth. They struck her when she resisted, her blood staining her gown. Their laughter was cruel, their touch unbearable. Vivian's voice grew hoarse, begging, crying, struggling — until strength abandoned her and her vision blurred.
The last thought that flickered in her mind was not of fear, but of Arthur. I hope… in the next life… you'll love me freely.
The forest swallowed her voice.
Arthur's horse thundered across the path, his cloak whipping behind him. The guard's warning still rang in his ears: "We've been attacked — save her highness!"
When he reached the broken carriage, rage and dread crushed him. The guards lay dead, and Vivian was gone. He dismounted before the horse fully stopped, scanning the ground with frantic eyes.
Footprints — hers, delicate but hurried — led into the forest. He followed, his sword drawn, his heart pounding with terror.
Then came the sound — a man's scream, guttural and sharp. Arthur crashed through the trees and saw them: three thugs, and on the ground between them, Vivian's motionless body.
Something inside him snapped.
With a roar, he struck. His blade cut through the first man's throat, hot blood spraying the leaves. The second fell with his chest split open, the third's head rolling into the dirt as Arthur's fury consumed him.
When silence finally returned, Arthur dropped his sword and fell to his knees beside her.
"Vivian… Vivi…" His voice broke, his hands trembling as he lifted her into his arms. Her body was limp, cold, her face pale under the moonlight. He shook her gently, tears blinding him. "Please wake up. It's my fault. I was a fool — please… I beg you."
No breath. No heartbeat.
Arthur buried his face against her hair, his shoulders shaking with sobs he had never allowed anyone to see. The mighty Grand Duke of Helio wept like a broken child in the dirt of the forest, holding the woman he had only just realized he could not live without.
He carried her back to the palace himself. The servants gasped, the butler dropped to his knees in shock, but Arthur said nothing. He laid her carefully on their bed, refusing to let anyone else touch her.
The physician confirmed the truth he already knew.
"No…" Arthur whispered hoarsely, clutching her hand. "She's not gone. She can't be gone. She'll wake up… she must."
But she never stirred.
And as the night bled into dawn, Arthur knelt by her bedside, silent and hollow-eyed, while somewhere beyond the veil of time a golden thread trembled, waiting to be tied again.